Poor Conceptions
by Quarter 'till Class
Summary: Mordin Solus x Human Oc
1. Hungry

**Disclaimer: Mass Effect and Mass Effect character names belong to BioWare, Microsoft Game Studios and Electronic Arts, unless stated an OC which in case belong to the author, Quarter 'till Class. No copyright infringement is intended. Plagiarism is theft so is prohibited. Do not copy or create a reproduction of this work in any language without express written authorization of the author, Quarter 'till Class. Thank you...Please enjoy.**

**Mordin Solus x Oc**

**A/N: Takes place before the final mission during the second game. (Pretending that the third never actually took place.)**

* * *

I haven't slept much. The very idea of stopping makes me nauseous, though I doubt I would have much to purge.

I can hear the intense blasts of firearms towards the front that echoed down the corridors. I'm listening attentively as every being I have come to befriend wails in brief agony through the lab before I assume they're dead. The choking gurgle of drowning in one's blood is a sound I will never rid from my mind. It's ghastly, and I feel sick all over again.

Kaer pauses every so often to cover his mouth with the crook of his arm and gag on the liquid crawling up his throat. His wound is drenched in medi-gel, wrapped tight with the torn hem of my top and secured by a piss-poor knot. More blood seeps into his tourniquet and drips thick on the datapads, staining my clothing green and smearing over the consoles in shaken, desperate haste. I've never seen him tremble so dramatically; his fingertips struggle to steady themselves on the monitor.

Salver lay dead in the corner, decaying. He stunk of burnt flesh and death.

Dr. Kaer rests with heavy weight on my shoulder. He can barely stand without my assistance, and I feel like I've failed miserably as a scientific aide. Just watching his eyes, large even for a salarian, makes my stomach crimp in on itself like an illness. He stands back, wobbly with myself as his human crutch, and examines the data portrayed on the screen with a grim expression. I feel twice as sick now...twice as pained.

He's heavy. I'm relatively small and his height is anything but accommodating.

A noise detracts our attention. His head turns abruptly to the front while I exhale deep, even breaths into his side with mortified exasperation.

The hasty knocking on the doorway is but an emotional blight against our current objective. The lone entrance is sealed heavily by Kaer's command.

The knocking changes into angered slamming, enraged, hopeless fists against the metal with a panicked rhythm set in their knuckles. The yelling is inaudible, my left ear drum had been popped nearly a day ago when we'd sealed off the lab's third wing. The krogan pushed us back to this last room...trapped us and any other survivors in separate decks to maintain frailty with pathetic numbers.

I applaud their initiative, nonetheless.

More blood tickles out of my ear at the sounds, caking over the dried grime that'd browned over the hours of inertia.

The ringing has turned into a throbbing pain. My stomach feels like it's eating into itself and my bones ache in the literal sense. Like a pulsating pain that rivets throughout my body, pinching my muscles and rendering me immobile.

"Please!" It's a muffled scream of pleading that rings like a high-pitched echo through the hollow of my left canal. A loud grunt erupts from down the hall, ammo rings through the air and taps at the door. "I know you're in there, Tula!"

"Gota." I can hear myself mutter her name, like a screeched undertone despite how it may have actually sounded.

Kaer looks to me with a scolding eye, lidded and coated by the seeping dribbles of the wound on his forehead. The salarian's hand, dyed a crusted green that flaked off with his movements, grips my shoulder firm. I step away, wobbly due to the weakness in my knees. I'm suddenly terrified of the decision I have to make. It becomes morbidly apparent that actual lives have been placed within my temporary care, struggling against my grasp on consequentialism. I have a choice, bestowed upon me in less than a brief instance. I may open that door, without physical interruption from Kaer (who can barely limp), or I may plant my feet and withhold our meager operation, which stands dire despite its questionable success rate.

"Don't risk it." He says it so seriously at such a quick pace. I'm either calmed or disturbed in seeing his expectations of everyone's untimely murder. Perhaps both. "The download isn't complete, Tula."

"Tula!" It's a shriek of panic. I can visualize Gota slamming her slender blue arms over and over again on the outside. I can imagine the tears streaking the eloquent marks of lavender that decorate her face, lips curled to express horror. Weapon fire continues and grows with every passing second, the hectic cries of the group outside grow either dangerously frantic or low with the realization of death. "Our shields! Tula our fucking shields! They won't hold!"

"Tula, don't do this. It will all be for nothing." Kaer grips my arm harshly, expression pleading past the agony as he holds his wound with a tense hand. There's desperation in his voice, a tone I've never heard fret past his lips before. He tightens his extended grip as I clench and unclench my sore fists.

Those doors are so slow to close. I think to myself. They've always been slow.

"Tula!" I don't know what to do.

"Tula!" I feel queasy.

"Tula!" I can't breath.

The ripple of biotics is apparent in sound. Screaming ensues and within moments the silence I have instilled is a horrid, painful lack of noise that would plague my memories until I pass. I haven't moved...I'm terrified in doing so. Horrified. Kaer turns his face away from looking at me, his eyes are glossed with the obvious sting of fear. His grip loosens significantly, as though all the strength he possessed was filtered into that one action of panic.

"Thank you...Tula." He says it solemnly. But there's this look of prejudice behind the forced appreciation and mock relief. A look of judgement at my lack of action. I feel as though a part of him had wanted me to disobey and open the doors, save Gota and Willhelm and Franz and anyone else. The other half knew and understood the risks. The other half looks to me with grateful praise.

Beyond Kaer I hear krogan and their toneless mutters, the responsive chirp of vorcha causes me even more distress than before. Vorcha would toy with their rotting flesh without remorse and I was the reason. Vorcha would gnaw on the skin and the faces of my friends as torture...because of data. Because the cure can't be given to the Blood Pack. Because the genophage was all a sick, twisted mistake we've been attempting to fix. Let them declare war...let them dry out their resources and let them shrivel into the oblivion that the drell and the quarians have both faced and conquered. This wasn't worth it. It just wasn't worth it.

And how many other facilities, researching the cure with good intentions, have faced a fate such as ours? How many people have been murdered over data? Over questionable information that may or may not be liable? How many humans, salarians, asari and the like have been slaughtered, beaten, shot, tortured and broken? Just like us? Forced into a dirty corner, struck with grief at the sounds of destruction and slaughter?

My heart is sinking into my abdomen at a slow, unnatural pace. I feel like I swallowed down the wrong tube. It hurts to breath.

And I look back to Kaer to find him laying dead, sprawled across the consoles with one lone hand still pressed firm against his oozing wound. Green is everywhere...splattered on every screen, datapad, communications console...

His eyes bore into my conscience like a deity expecting a plea of innocence. He looks at my face, almost appalled.

I need to throw up again. I need to do something.

I close his eyes out of grief.

It's not long before a piercing ring alerts me that the download is complete. The data's been erased from every drive, deck, greybox, monitor, tower...it only exists in the small flash card that I've stuffed into my blood-soaked pocket. Kaer would have killed me for that. I knew better.

I feel like I no longer have purpose despite it.

My stomach growls.

* * *

It has been a rounded fifty-four hours since the Blood Pack intercepted and sabotaged communications, then invaded the facility. Forty-nine since Amaus Kaer, Salver Romous and I sealed the room and began the system-wide data erase. Forty-five since Salver attempted to stop us as well as shot Dr. Kaer. The traitor has been laying limp in the corner, dead, for generally the same amount of time.

It stinks in here already.

I'm hungry.

Dr. Kaer has been deceased for the last twenty six hours. I've been unconscious for most of that wasted time. It's lucky that I can't recall the nightmares I surely thought up...or else I wouldn't find the mental capability to open the doors and roam.

When I was last awake I could still hear vorcha screeching to each other down the halls. Like monsters indulging in twisted humor found comical by culture. That's what they were, anyway. I was never fond of their insufferably, despicable species. Living like leeches and snarling at mostly everything.

For the last hour I've heard nothing. I haven't spoken to myself, I haven't eaten or stood. I was once tempted to give some sort of religious-based blessing to Dr. Kaer...but knowing his once evident dislike for human culture I decided against it. The last thing I wanted to do was upset the dead leftovers of my previously living mentor. He'd return just to slap me upside the head.

I sat and watched him instead. Cynically, no less.

By this time I've successfully found the courage to leave. Bodies slump forward from leaning on the doors, sliding to the side in a painfully slow manner. Gota lay in a messy, blood-soaked heap; the asari's head was cratered, burnt and rugged from a shot to the face. Franz is missing limbs, and Willhelm is a shriveled corpse shot endlessly further down the hall. The others that I'd known were not present, but three I couldn't name were hardly recognizable aside from their seemingly untouched identification badges.

Anything worth money was taken.

I threw up saliva and acidic bile after a few elongated moments of examination. My closest associates were gruesomely murdered and it was entirely due to my decision as a scientist. My other friends are likely dead as well, though not in immediate view.

I hear the light echoes of chirping, the clicking of an untranslated language foreign without my earpiece.

Vorcha bicker down the westward corridor. The quick pace of their naturally skittish stride is a noise I recognize after hours of listening beside Kaer's corpse. They'd ventured up and down the halls, snarling and thrashing at each other violently. Krogan were few as of late. (I found that odd.)

I'm frozen, still as stone out of incomprehensible fear and the sluggishness of my brain. My eyes hurt against the flickering lights, reaching so far that they round the darkened corners sprayed with blood. I see trails as I listen to their hasty approach...of where bodies had once been idle and bleeding only to be dragged away. I can imagine no purpose for someone half or fully dead. The reason for the multiple smears of fluid escapes me.

The clink of thermal clips.

I assume my animalistic need for survival veered control of my body. Outrunning Blood Pack trained vorcha would be blatantly unwise if not entirely redundant. Instead I lift the corpses of my colleagues, sliding beneath them hurriedly as though I were deceased. My breath hitches at the stench, a gag tightening in the back of my throat. I feel nauseous towards the reek of decay.

Their footing was initially swift, clawing down the hall. The one closest pauses and slows, undoubtedly sniffing at the air. I being to doubt my actions; I hadn't considered whether or not they could smell fear. It was likely.

I'm very lucky (despite how often Kaer had disregarded the existence of karma or fluke prosperity).

The duo leave, somehow impatient, and I wait idle beneath the debilitated remains of Gota and my previous acquaintances. I wait until there's an eerie silence, then sit up and inhale. I glance at my uniform, stained green and red and dotted with blue. My bare feet look as though I'd soaked them green with salarian blood, dirtied and bruised despite my inactivity. I suppose Salver had done more damage than I'd initially speculated.

I heave my asari dissimulation to the side, again breathing heavily and jumping to my feet. I'm panicked, stunned at the dampness on my front and arms. I leave before the mercenaries return, hasty in my retreat. I'm more upset to leave Kaer to rot.

I wasn't sure where to go from a place standing between mutilated bodies, but I did walk. I imagine the exit or loading bay. The kitchen.

I'm still hungry.

* * *

When the noises down the hall caught my attention, I'd been wolfing salarian-type dried fruits with the idea that tomorrow wasn't an option. I would have bad cramps eating their food...severe, stomach-ripping cramps that would possibly instigate internal damage.

But the noises were caused by organics; curious and rather brutish ones at that. I was terrified again. Only six hours after wandering the base and I already feared for my unavoidable demise (a second time, no less). Krogan, probably. Set on murdering anything with a pulse; more of the Blood Pack.

More corpses to look at and vomit over.

I sat on the kitchen island, watching past the glass doors as shadows danced up the walls. They were each of a slender build when in comparison to armored krogan. I was a bit relieved.

Even more so when a human rounded the corner with a gun pointed at my chest. A drell trailed in after, handsome, really...and the uncannily familiar face of Professor Solus came third. A salarian I trusted with my life was perfect to pass this burden to. It was destined.

I remember popping another fruit on the dry surface of my tongue, feeling the weight of my entire body begin to sag. I couldn't taste it. The adrenaline of fear, shock and guilt was finally winding down into an unfocused lethargy. I could only imagine how a human girl sitting in the kitchen, eating in the company of decayed corpses appeared. Unstable, perhaps?

"Professor Solus." I had lost my voice in the daily struggle of survival. It was a coarse rasp with gravel-like undertones that I hadn't expected. It sounded weak and humiliating. Nonetheless I could speak. I could still give them the data.

"Abrave? Where is Kaer?" He already knows what is of Kaer, yet he asks to ensure his assumptions. Mordin is quick to approach, the signs of concern on his face as he recognizes me past oily hair and a dirty, blood-stained face. My last name sounds so foreign when he speaks. It's been a human year or so since I've seen Solus in person. I freely laugh at the new scar that cut horizontal across his left cheek.

I'm sure he labeled me ill with such a display.

"Dead. The data...Kaer wanted you to have it." I lie through my teeth. A needle-like sting coils in my stomach as the fruits begin to digest. My hand instinctively covers my mouth in a panic. I feel violently nauseous again. I taste acid as it crawls up my esophagus and stings the very back of my tongue.

"Visual signs of depression, lack of nourishment and socialization. Voice has not been used recently, judging from lack of damage around throat. No other survivors."

"Yes." I tell him blatantly. " The Blood Pack."

"Figured that out on the way in." That woman...she seems so familiar. Though I doubt I've ever met her. But her eyes beyond that distinct armor tell me that I know of her well. Well enough to recall familiar eyes when in a state of trauma.

"Shepard?" Ah. My question is quick to be answered...I stand in the light of an over-glorified celebrity. I sit before a people-made hero with a winning complexion. As I scrutinize her Mordin places his hand over my shoulder as if to comfort me. It's not working.

"You trust her, Mordin?" She asks, gun gesturing in my direction briefly. I like her armor.

"Entirely." I'm flattered despite our relationship. I want to go home.

"Well then, we need to get her on board. Maybe she can explain what happened here." She snaps her fingers in font of my face, as though testing my attention, but I feel the need to ignore the action entirely. I doubt that helped their synopsis. "It looks like they were searching for something specific."

"With a survivor to tell I doubt they found whatever it is they were looking for." The drell finds his sanded voice, eager to help in stabilizing my balance and posture. I'm uncertain of him, initially. I don't know many drell. I am very vague of mind when recalling what I've read from their culture. Are they violent? Generous? Unpredictable?

"Unlikely, but still possible." Mordin speaks again, always willing to in any situation. I find myself relieved that he's beside me...I doubt I'd want anyone else in such a condition.

"Get her on board." Someone says. I assume it'd been Shepard barking orders, as is appropriate.

The Drell shoulders me effortlessly, taking on most of my weight as I limp on aching toes. Mordin assists, and momentarily I feel as secure as possible. Capable of succumbing to my exhaustion.

"I'm hungry."

That's the last thing I gripe before drifting off into unconsciousness.

* * *

**I felt that there weren't enough Mordin appreciation fics hanging around FF. Someone also requested an Mass Effect Oc fic. I figured that it couldn't hurt, plus I really enjoyed the first and second game. The third was good until the excessive and unpreventable death, as well as the very disappointing endings. **

**Anyway, here it is. I can change the pairing and genre according to what's recommended as well as reviews. So please, share what you'd like! This story is based on an oc and whatever the majority asks for!**


	2. Indifferent

**A/N: So I'm attempting to tie my ocs to Maelon Heplorn and the genophage data. Hopefully this works out. Review, please!  
**

* * *

It's been three days aboard the Normandy, two of which were spent unconscious. I've been awake for the last four hours, uncomfortable on a medical cot and despondent towards the people beyond the glass. They look at me blankly, the humans and their constant need to silence unnecessary curiosity by passing immediate judgment. Humans lack the ability to figure situations, and despite sharing skin and eyes and structure, I lack respect for my own race. I should say I'm impartial towards humans. I cannot deplore them, but I feel detached. It's a fault I fear I will never overcome.

Salarians are all I've been taught by, and their process is all I know. Quick, efficient, careful and direct. I recall struggling to keep up, to maintain an acceptable pace as an assistant to one of the brightest minds in salarian history. In my youth I'd had poor dexterity, fixed by my employer who'd consistently threatened replacement had I not kept a workable speed and ceased the constant destruction of lab material.

I wonder why he'd kept me.

Pity? The knowledge that he'd find no one better? Care? He always threw me odd glances, speculating and weary and often uncertain. I was never provided the privilege, nor the opportunity to decipher his visual confessions. I assume I was his surrogate daughter, seeing as his own had abandoned the field of scientific research to go slum the lower levels of Omega. Yet he still criticized me harshly...he treated me no different from Salver or Gota. I suppose this is all just wishful thinking. I realize that I will never know.

I forget that Doctor Kaer is dead, if only momentarily in my bitter reprieve.

All I recall in his final hour is that look of judgment. That expression of mixed signals...of regret. Large, dark eyes seeming so shallow as he stared after death and reprimanded me for my decision. Yet with words, whilst alive, he reassured me of my choice to preserve the data. I think that perhaps his morality had only been exposed once his cynical mind ceased function, because even staring at whatever deity he praised (though I assume he'd never believed in a higher power) he held his judgment of right and wrong.

Maybe, if I had first acted, I could have opened the doors. I could have let them in without risk, and maybe they would have lived. Just maybe. This, however, is a stage of mental shock that I recognize with malice. I feel responsible despite my limited options, and I feel guilty despite the importance of the information. There hadn't been time.

I still feel responsible. I wish I'd been a miracle worker.

Even if for just a brief moment, if not then-

"Abrave." I look up, utterly stunned by the second presence in the room. I lacked the focus needed to listen? That's a bit more than distressing.

But Mordin seems calm, holding a very brief and very simple smile on his face. His eyes have always been distinct to me, very unique with subtle undertones of constant perplexity. His coloration as well, even his way of walk and speech. His mind worked very different.

Kaer once referred to him as a brother...an impressive source of knowledge with the cunning, wit, and precision of a salarian twice their possible age. Wise. He finds a place in his heart for culture and various arts despite his field of study. His work ethic is phenomenal and draining. And yet he smiles. He lives so briefly? He's seen so much death, and anguish, and reasons for extinction...and still he manages to find something to humor himself with.

I'm being pessimistic, for once.

"Looking much better. Dr. Chakwas discussed improved health and steady recovery. How are you fairing?" He speaks in slurs, sometimes. Even Kaer had never mumbled so quickly.

"Fine." I say it like second nature. Truthfully I am far from good. I am miserable. I am motionless in a repetitive memory lapse, throwing myself back to the very moment of suffering that caused it. I feel no need to eat. I will not return to the sanctuary that is unconsciousness. I realize that I'm traumatized.

I've diagnosed myself and have yet to act.

He pauses, hands fiddling at his sides impatiently...itching to be productive. He's thinking. Observing and scrutinizing.

"Perhaps therapeutic counseling is necessary? Understand Yeoman Chambers is commendable in her physiological expertise."

"I am fine." I parrot, and I bite into my tongue awkwardly. "Thank you, Professor."

It's been some time since I've shaken a hand with Professor Solus...and yet he speaks to me as though we're long time friends. The trust between us is immense despite our acquaintanceship. We share ideals, and philosophies; I understand that we are fond of one another.

"Genophage data has been saved in the ship's secure archives. Inaccessible with exception to Commander Shepard and myself." He smiles fully, with an almost forced smugness that I couldn't place. He seems so old now, much older than I recall. Someone had informed Kaer and I of his hospice on Omega...I assume that the stress and guilt had something to do with his accelerated age.

"Kaer included an encrypted notation." He mentions, all but briefly. He drags it out, strangely. He's observing my reaction, for what I'm unaware of.

"Did he?" I'm genuinely curious, though my tone suggests otherwise. I hadn't intended to be so rude.

"Would be appropriate to read it yourself." He says.

I don't say much after that. If anything at all. But he looks at my untouched plate of conjoined foods and grimaces, clearly distraught at my lack of appetite.

"Must continue research. Free to leave infirmary whenever convenient. Doctor Chakwas is preoccupied." He's such a great source of information. It's almost strange.

"Thank you, Professor Solus."

And he leaves. I'm grateful.

* * *

There's a quarian among the crew. Within the strict ranks of Cerberus. I would feel the need to laugh if I happen across a turian that'd joined. Asari and drell are of no surprise. They are the most accepted of species, the most human-like as far as mind-set. And therefor they would be the only few alien races to expect upon a predominantly human vessel, allowed as necessary exceptions.

Imagine a krogan aboard! I smile in thinking of such ludicrously, earning a small tilt of the head from the quarian sitting at the nearest table, reading a datapad. The hooded human beside her waves and grins politely, returning to her paperback novel. It'd been sometime since I'd seen an actual printed book.

They were discussing something whilst standing to leave.

The hour is late. Chakwas has retired to her quarters, the obvious signs of exhaustion forcing her away. Chambers has made it necessary in checking on me every hour or so, though I plan to force myself asleep before her next visit. She is an irritating woman...rather stubborn in the negative sense. Very irrational in where she places her sympathy. I find myself defiant towards her.

The quarian sends a silent, brief wave to mimic her colleague. One of slow hesitation, then a bit of unsocial eagerness. She is obviously unknowing of my identity, nor my purpose or placement. But she figures something, because she nods her head in a respectful bid goodnight before venturing off back down the hall with the human. Tali'Zorah and Kasumi Goto, I'm told.

This is the first night aboard the Normandy that I am conscious, rather than unmoving upon a medical cot. The lights in the infirmary, above my throbbing head, are constant and abstract in their brightness. The rest of the level, from the elevator to the battery room, is dark with rest. I find my thoughts morbid, but only for a moment.

Death is suddenly a very kind option for myself...it shines with a lack of guilt. I imagine it's like an uninterrupted sleep, rather peaceful. A meditative state without the slightest possibility of distraction.

The door to my right slides open, causing a stir of panic to catch in my chest. It feels as though I've inhaled sand...coarse and painful.

I remind myself of the drell, his lungs dry.

Before me a geth appears, unlike others I've witnessed under fire. Unlike any in its movements. I cannot will myself to scream, but as I note the N7 armor welded to his side, I feel relieved that I hadn't. It would have only caused unnecessary stir among those with insomnia. Perhaps false alarm.

Multiple extremities shift out of curiosity, its body language relaxes to the slow stare of recognition I make sure I provide it. I assume it's male...as I wrongly and ignorantly assume all geth are male. He is stilled by my presence, fairly curious, but he is aware and takes notes of every detail. That causes me extreme discomfort...and the fact that even Mordin had left their housing of a geth out of his updates makes me consider that, by this time, he is a part of the crew. Another willing volunteer readying for this infamous suicide mission Cerberus is funding.

"Abrave, Doctor." He nods a physical greeting, brief enough that it almost seems organic. He knows my name, indicating access to either personal files (which I doubt highly) or security feed. I imagine he is a suitable companion to EDI.

"What are you called?" I ask, very urgently despite my position. Very monotonously despite my untold anxiety and inner panic.

"We are geth." He pauses, contemplating before raising his helm. "Shepard Commander chooses to refer to us as 'Legion'." He makes it simple. I like that more than I can express, though I have yet to lower my defenses. Geth are not trustworthy creatures – I have very little experience with geth, but one is redundant to freely throw their trust where it is not welcome. I doubt it cares.

"Legion." Yes. That does fit him...it. She. They. Them. It sounds correct on the tongue. It matches their...face.

"Abrave, Doctor." They nod and leave, stiffly. (By this point I've decided it's of masculine gender, though in vast numbers.) I'm not precisely sure where they'd ventured to, but far enough that their movements are soundless and out of range. I pay no attention to the excessive exploration.

They're more knowledgeable than I am.

...I still cannot sleep.

* * *

The geth returned while I was sleeping, I think. I did not see Legion much after our initial encounter. I've been awake for the last six hours. Chakwas had informed me of my entire two hours of restless unconsciousness.

I hadn't dreamed.

"Abrave..." I'd watched him walk in, and the unpredicted sound of my name still startles me. I blink with what I assume was a dubious expression, watching Solus as he looks to Chakwas and nods.

The Doctor and I don't talk. She respects my privacy, which is very considerate. She says her job is to keep me breathing, and that's the length of it. I like her more than the average human being.

"Professor, my patient is under extreme emotional stress. Please come back at a later time." She stands and wipes her hands on her pant legs. Her fingers curl and uncurl at the slow ache of her arthritis, joints flexing to ease away the discomfort. With her age is it expected; I assume she refuses treatment.

"Matter of importance, Doctor. Necessary to verify the events on Maridine." His eyes seek over her shoulder, and I hold his perceptive stare with the heavy-lidded look of my own. I'm tired, still. Sleep escapes me despite my safety aboard a secure ship. I am willing to speak, but I can't be sure if I'm physically capable.

I decide, rather suddenly, that I would begin my efforts of communication on Legion, if he would spare me the time. A machine does not exhibit impatience, pressure or urgency. Even an artificial intelligence.

"That can wait. She's still in a critical stage of shock, and I'd rather not have her being interrogated so soon after such a traumatic escapade. It could lead to an emotional setback, rendering her entirely useless until further therapeutic counseling." As I'd said: I like Chakwas.

I don't know as to why I was avoiding Professor Solus. Perhaps because I had blatantly lied to him upon being found, or maybe I was painfully shy? Doubtful. (I know him too well.) But I believe I'm distracted. I've concluded that my previous want for death still lingers even after my rescue. The guilt is a heavy weight, heavier than the responsibility of Kaer's data. It sulks me down, and I feel indifferent towards existence and those who'd prolonged my own. If death were to brashly come forward and reach for my collar, I would embrace it as though it were Doctor Kaer himself.

I lack the will to live.

"Understandable." He turns in my general direction, blinking and exhaling before undoubtedly scrutinizing by expression. "Whenever ready, Tula."

He uses my first name, which is strange.

We exchange this awkward sort of nod, and I leave it at that. He smiles reassuringly. I do not.

Chakwas escorts him our of her territory before returning to her designated seat. We're alone and silent for another undetermined amount of time.

I look up at an unusual sight, watching a turian exit the main battery room with a stiff neck. He rubs at his eyes, slouched from exhaustion. Then catches the sight of an unfamiliar patient sitting in a medical cot, staring momentarily as I fold my legs against my chest...then waves uncertainly. I have a distinct feeling that he's a smart-ass, though turian culture suggests otherwise.

"If you want, I can one way the windows." She startles me.

"One way?" I ask. I don't really grip her meaning.

"You can see out, but the troops can't see in. One way." She smiles, ridding her hands of her gloves and cracking her knuckles. One leg uncrosses the other and she stands, rubbing her palms together as though chilled. The room is fairly cold.

Why would she take off her gloves, then?

"I would be much obliged." I think I'd appreciate her offer, considering how often I've been studied like an animal behind glass. I feel like a fish in an aquarium. Kaer would have laughed at that. He would have told me (out of consideration and his superiority complex) to consider everyone else the fish in their aquarium, as I watched and made observations.

I am not the fish.

"I figure it would offer a bit more privacy. I lifted it after you'd gained consciousness...should have left it alone."

Chakwas drags the brief glide of her fingertips over the window, pulling down a dark tint. I remember our similar system back on Maridine. We had them in every workable lab, as well as the observation deck and personal quarters. Then there's this blood coating every window in angled splatters, dripping from the walls and pooling at my heels. I walk past it and ruin my borrowed shoes, but the shattered pieces of broken glass strewn over the hall prevent me from walking with bare feet. So I walk in sopping boots, with my toes curled and wet with the blood that seeps through.

I had lifted them from a random corpse. My own shoes lay worn in Kaer's main lab, beside his body.

I felt sick, suddenly. And I blink and sputter out what comes to mind.

"It has only been three days." I say.

"Long ones, no doubt." She sighs, almost content. I apparently had yet to act strangely. There is no break in our conversation. No cautious look of concern. "The Commander would like to speak with you this evening. If you are well enough, that is."

"I heard. Do you know why?" I'm curious. Almost paranoid. She shows me excessive hospitality, provides me with immediate medical treatment, allows me to stay aboard her vessel, and has yet to announce what favors I may pay with?

I begin to worry, only now. I have heard of Cerberus and their reputation, though I admit to worse done by a scalpel, I still fear for my life abroad the Normandy. I tense visibly, and Chakwas must have seen.

"She'd simply like you to explain the events on Maridine. Professor Solus has also been concerned." She sounds reassuring, putting on a soft face of understanding. Smiling a bit too kindly she hunches over in her chair, elbows on her knees.

"Am I well enough, then?" I ask immediately after, looking out to a krogan who sauntered into the kitchen and demanded a higher quality of food. The chef argues, as one would expect towards the demands of any krogan. I've seen a turian aboard...why would I be shocked by another unexpected species lounging about?

"It's entirely up to you." She looks out and chuckles as the turian calms him. "Odd, isn't it? The diversity on a Cerberus ship?"

"Very much so." I agree.

"Harmless, really." She sits and stares, eyes unfocused. "I'd always thought that single-species vessels were lacking something necessary."

"Species segregation is generally unhealthy. It provokes favoritism, excessive pride, negativity and social anxiety when faced with uncommon races." I enjoy excessive explanation.

I remember how Kaer was indifferent towards turians. I'd been told he was judgmental due to their release of the genophage on the krogan home world. I always felt hatred of a single species was rather ludicrous. Human are not my most favored company, but I lack the ability to despise them...even after the Holocaust, or the World Wars. It takes too much effort to hate something so vast and common. As I've said: I'm impartial to my species.

"So you do speak?" She grins a bit, folding her arms and leaning forward in her chair. I assume she's joking."You remind me of a certain salarian aboard. You know each other well?"

"Well enough." I say. I don't want to talk about Professor Solus. He reminds me of Doctor Kaer in more ways that one.

"He was very relieved to hear you survived. He wanted to speak with you, I'm not sure if he had the chance or not."

"He did."

"Good, then." She keeps up that smile, waiting a bit before speaking up. "Whenever you feel you're ready, let me know. The Commander just wants to talk."

"Right." I say no more.

* * *

**End of chapter two. **

**Three will be up within the weekend, give or take. **

**Thank you all so much for the support and reviews. There are many errors as far as names and species, so I'm attempting to be extra careful as far as spell check. If you do see an error, please send me a PM rather than reviewing your advice! It's not that I do not appreciate your constructive criticism, but I do fix the errors that you inform me of! So I wouldn't want a review that seemed untrue after I've resolved the issue. **

**Thank you again! Have a great weekend! Xoxo**


	3. Throw-aways

**A/N: So here we are at chapter three, late as predicted. Sorry about that...studies come first. I hope you enjoy, this offers a bit more detail towards Tula and Mordin's relationship, as well as the events of Maridine.**

* * *

I have nightmares. I allow an abrupt scream of horror to press against the raw walls of my throat as I jolt awake. I had slept to silence. A familiar silence that causes me definite unease. A silence wrought with death, disbelief and tragedy.

This ship is so quiet.

I imagine myself standing before the door to Kaer's lab, listening to Gota Franz and Willhelm hollering my name...terrified. Sobbing, slamming against the door out of sheer desperation. I recall the familiar ripple of biotics, and the lifelessness that grips me after. The silence. That distinct and unusual silence.

So I rouse and scream.

Unintentionally, but loud.

It is odd to have a geth come to my aid. Very odd to sit and compose yourself, only to have something so far from human attempt to understand your instabilities.

Legion stands at my bedside with a wandering optic, the prongs of their hands clench and unclench without reason. They never cease movement, though I assume they never truly have to. They don't fidget or calm, or itch or relax. They do not seem confused nor shocked, but rather curious. More perplexed than anything else.

They are in constant need for answers. We are more similar than I'd earlier assessed.

We exchange details of culture, because I am no longer fearful of their reasoning aboard the ship. They disregard art and originality in general, but admit it is necessary. I ponder on how their species lives so plainly. Without something that would define them outside of physical and economic enhancement. He insists that such idiosyncrasies are not necessary for a populace to develop and strive.

"Are there other geth with your attributes?" I've decided now, after so much talk, that they are a he. This is one Geth, not many; I am convinced no matter how persistent he is in reminding me.

"No." I laugh. I haven't laughed for days. I don't laugh to mock him, but rather because of his originality. He is more of an individual than he realizes. He often displays sentience when he contemplates things he does not understand.

He does not comment on my odd display of abrupt humor. Rather, he studies it. He is intrigued by it.

...I enjoy his company. I've learned that he is truly sentient.

* * *

I wait another day before speaking with Commander Shepard. Professor Solus meets me in the medical bay beforehand. I assume he'd offered to be an escort of some kind.

I do not know the ship's layout very well.

"Anxiety unnecessary. Would only like to ask a few questions, nothing more."

"Of course, Professor Solus." I sound as I would speaking to Doctor Kaer. Direct and quiet, quickly and without excessive banter. I've found myself missing him constantly.

Mordin smiles.

"Kaer was...commendable in scientific field. Detailed work. Good autobiography. Theories a little extreme, but maintained interest through complexity." Mordin is rather kind. I assume he'd read the grief from my blatantly sorrowful expression and responded appropriately. I hadn't intended to lack composure.

We enter the ship's elevator. I'm afraid to speak up, though silence in unsocial, enclosed areas is often expected for humans. I'm sure he's aware of such a fact. He knows much of my species. More than I could ever claim to learn.

"You read his autobiography?" I force myself to ask.

"Yes," He inhales, as though thinking, "Interesting. Detailed. Lacked ability to relate to average reader, but...worth reading if capable."

I admit that Kaer was often extreme. Intense. He maintained a very strong personality that most individuals strayed from. He was very wordy...very unlike Professor Solus. Very complex.

"It seemed as though he hadn't wanted me to read it. He said I lived it, so I never provided myself the opportunity to do so."

"Expected. Entire chapter dedicated to unnamed assistant. Very explicit regarding work ethic and ability. Endearing." I'm confused, and I suspect Salver to be the prime example of perfection. A Salarian with abilities beyond his usual age. He'd turned sixteen earlier in the year.

I would have been proud, also.

"Salver was exceptional. Spineless, but talented in his field." I sound bitter, though it hadn't been intentional. I feel outrage, perhaps towards the irony of Kaer writing about his most prized pupil only to be murdered by said prodigy.

It was a dry, calloused joke.

...It only now occurs to me that 'endearing' is an odd word to use.

"Not Salver. Female. Human. Small, no physical strength, intelligent while lacking average human delay. Read for yourself. Worthwhile." He smiles again, kindly.

I'm not sure how to absorb this particular information. I'm confused. Upset, all the same. Frustrated, emotionally uncertain, distracted...and I begin to sound like Solus when translating his observations to speech.

I put it in the back of mind. I'd rather not stir up unnecessary conflict with my own conscience so soon before meeting Shepard. Professor Kaer was an uneasy topic. A raw, delicate one I admit is difficult to push away. I don't believe Mordin realizes his importance in this ordeal. His connections to Kaer, Maelon, the genophage...and myself. It was all an off situation filled with unsettling coincidences. All strange.

I recall my initial meeting with Professor Solus and Maelon Heplorn. The younger offered a stiff hand from the sight of a human and Solus a disinterested welcome, more focused on the task at hand. They'd though I was a liability. I had barely managed to prove them wrong.

The journey is painfully slow for a one-floor elevation. Nonetheless, I'm escorted to a sort of conference room set at the rear between the lab and armory. People stare as we walk through the command center. Yeoman Chambers waves briefly with a rather excited grin. I still do not like her.

"Tula Abrave." Shepard shakes my hand upon entering. I attempt to match her firm grip and fail. "Good to see you in better shape."

She has an oddly hardened voice that maintains a genuine femininity. It runs both ways as far as appeal and intimidation. I vaguely recall it when being rescued.

"Thank you, Commander." I express my gratitude. I don't think I smile at all. I'm not sure.

I take my directed position before I'm deemed unwelcome, shifting uncomfortably at the amount of people present. An attractive woman stands across the room, towards the left besides another man. I recall them to be Miranda and Jacob, though I'm unaware of their last names and positions. I imagine they're rather important, noting the much more diligent and fitting Cerberus apparel. The rest of the crew dons casual deck uniforms.

The quarian stands beside Legion far on the other end. I ponder the tension exhibited by creator and creation, sensing something only slight. I imagine they've found equal footing when aboard the same ship. It would be difficult to function a crew with the constant intent of murder. Why are they present? Another matter, coincidentally overlapping my interrogation?

"I understand that this is difficult, but we need to know exactly what happened on Maridine," Shepard asks, hands flat on the table. She's as direct as the geth.

Shepard grows on me the more I interact with her. I need to reassess my opinion.

Despite the woman's abruptness, her question is one I'd predicted, and I still have an issue in answering. I am nervous and shaken and pitifully anxious. I have yet to overcome my stage of trauma.

"We-...We were attacked by-...the mercenaries." I stop myself, because it didn't sound right.

I'm terrified, again.

Gota would have rambled on and on about the intricate details. She would have told them the exact stench and about every specific burn mark on every wall. Every unrecognized body and how it was positioned, who and what was where. Trepidation would not have stopped her. In fact, it would have fueled her desire to openly explain the day's tragedy. She was so much stronger than I. Her death reeks in the palms of my hands. I regret it every hour.

Salver would have explained it monotonously; he would have discussed their intricate plan of invasion, told about our scavenge for the data and his theories on the link of mercenaries to our research. I can barely speak. I tell my entire endeavor through one uninformative and meek statement. They were already aware of what I'd muttered. They obviously knew about the mercs.

They seem patient, nonetheless. They all appear to comprehend my disability and accept my rapid influx of emotions. They've been through worse. They mostly relate.

"Abrave." Mordin throws me some kind of composed, solemn look. His tone is quiet and reassuring, still urging me to continue. But what was I supposed to say? What did they want? Expect?

A tragic story? A pathetic tell-tale?

The truth, is what Kaer would demand. The untainted, absolute truth...with evidence and testimony to prove its reliability.

That brings back an old memory.

An unwanted one.

"We were examining the biological impact that the genophage had made." I start out slow. I sound nearly illiterate. "We scrutinized it. A cure was distant, but we'd developed a theory that we all felt was worth practicing. A few months ago, Doctor Kaer made contact with Professor Heplorn-"

Shepherd interrupts. She has her hands still set firm, fingers arched at the joints and stiff against the table. She leans forward, narrowing her eyes and creasing her brow suspiciously. I wish I weren't so observant.

"Maelon Heplorn?" She'd inquired.

Obviously they knew of Professor Heplorn.

Mordin knows, undoubtedly. His current expression proves as much. Shepherd knowing unsettles me. It implies something.

"Yes. We exchanged data and contacted him with our research. He was a good source of knowledge until our initial speculations became apparent. Dr. Kaer had been uncertain about Heplorn after he'd suggested using live subjects. He introduced us to a Krogan female who offered herself willingly for testing. She wanted to assist the cure, perhaps bare a child or become permanently fertile."

"You used living test subjects?" Mordin stiffens, stepping forward and startling me. I know of his ethics, I know of his strict rules and morals. I wish we had been more considerate, more like Solus in our downward spiral towards uncontrolled desperation. I refer to it as our fall from grace.

"Only Rokav. She died on the table, but she'd been an incredible asset. She begged us, wanted to pay us with her belongings. She even threatened us...but she made an impact!" I raise my voice, defending my wrongs. I murdered her; I know I had. I won't admit it verbally. I never will.

What do they call it on Earth? A sin?

"Living test subject? _Living_?! Wast of life, Tula! Waste of _time_!" I can see the slow tension easing into the room, fisting Mordin's hands as he throws a quick, violent gesture with his left. Every single one of them, save Legion, begin to change. They all carried an opinion...they all judged me, disagreed with and were suddenly wary of me. I feel the quarian's hesitation seep from her suit. I sense immediate despise from the woman and man behind Shepard. Humans.

_Hah!_

..._Humans_.

They appear just as Kaer had. Staring at me so uncertainly. As though I were some kind of snarling vorcha with blood on its teeth.

I think back to the torture she had endured – Rokav, the Krogan. Flat lining on my table, under my speculations and injections. Jerking and thrashing from seizures beneath my hand and unprofessional promises before her literal soul escaped her body and vanished due to my lack of composure and knowledge. She would have survived the procedure with anyone better. Perhaps Salver, or Kaer himself.

They all denied it. They said it was inevitable. But I still believe she could have lived.

"We were so close!" I yell it. I'm crying, fingers curled and palms up as though I were cradling the cure before my eyes. It escaped us, as Kaer has said. It was still distant.

I attempt to compose myself. Breathing. Hyperventilating and sobbing into the memory of her horrified expression. My anxiety pains me. I cannot move, watching everyone stare.

"Calm down, Tula. No one is blaming you." I hear Shepard. Stern and a bit uncertain.

"Breath, Tula." Mordin says, abruptly. He sounds like Kaer, more concerned than I recall.

Intake air. Expel. Intake. Expel. Intake...

...and then I continue.

"We...used a variant of gene therapy, but beyond a cellular level, impacting each individual nucleolus. It was the only process left unconsidered. We treated the genophage as a defective mutant allele in every cell, then injected multiple vectors carrying the closest excuse we had for a cure. It began attacking the mutation, as we had hypothesized. It was a brief instance of success, but Rokav-...but Rokav passed away six minutes after exposure."

"Did you contact Maelon after the initial test?" Shepherd asks, evenly. She lacks a tone. I fear that more than I can express.

My heart races unnaturally, slamming against my chest and tensing my body. I can hear my pulse, feel it in my eyelids and lips. I'm terrified again. Panicking.

"We-...we avoided Professor Heplorn's attempts in contacting the lab. Kaer predicted unwanted company...but he hadn't expected mercenaries."

"What happened next?"

"They infiltrated base, massacred assistants and low ranking personnel, then divided each wing. Salver and I happened to be with Kaer in the main lab up in the north hall. It took us five hours to collect all copies of any genophage data and meet at his personal lab between the west and east wings. He sealed the doors and shut us in."

I lose my voice momentarily, but I feel the sudden need to continue. To talk. Heplorn had sent in the mercs, obviously. Shepard knows enough about him, as though she'd met him...I assume Maelon's dead.

"Salver...he wanted to exchange the data for our lives. He shot Kaer after he'd initiated the system-wide sweep. Then Kaer died."

Tali'Zorah exits the room.

For what reason I'm unsure.

"How could you have been certain they wanted the genophage data?" Shepherd's interest strictly revolves around the massacre. It strays nowhere else.

"It was pure speculation. I was the first to accuse Professor Heplorn of working for Clan Weyrloc. I'd been paranoid. I asked Assistant Gota to track one of his initial transmissions, which led to three different origin points on Tuchanka. When we inquired, he'd stated it was a misunderstanding. He said that he volunteered for Clan Urdnot, and Weyrloc was too dangerous. Kaer did not believe him."

"Did he threaten Kaer?"

"Yes. We ceased responding to his numerous attempts at communication. But...we should have been more prepared."

"Why did you trust Maelon in the first place?" She asks. Patiently.

"He'd been Professor Solus' student during genophage production. He wanted to find a solution, he agreed that the krogan were dying because of his and our mistake. He wanted the cure as badly as Kaer had."

"He blamed himself?"

"Mostly. He blamed the turians also, as did Kaer. I blame the salarians."

Her eyes narrow. I see a brief quirk in her lip. She's steering off topic, but I doubt she cares at this point. She can ask what she wants. "Why?"

I hesitate to answer. "Culturally, the krogan were not prepared. This was a population that had just outgrown their pubescent stage in existing. Space travel, technological advancement, the introduction to separate species...the salarians initiated disaster in bringing full exposure to Tuchanka. If not for scientific purposes then for a necessary front line in the Rachni Wars."

"Krogan would have evolved without interruption, systematically balancing population. Simply were not ready." Mordin agrees, expression stoic as he crosses one arm over his chest, setting the other to his chin. I'm still tense.

"Professor Solus shares said opinion. The krogan would have been a thriving, successful species had salarian desperation not intervened. Though I assume the turians would have taken advantage either way."

"And your base? It was a Cerberus facility?"

"I'm sorry?" I'm confused. We'd maintained no ties to such an organization. "No."

"While scanning Maridine we picked up on your distress signal. We were there to investigate leads on Cerberus' illegal facilities...your base fell under the same coordinates. It lacks a legitimate name, which invites even more suspicion."

That human woman steps forward, her face irked.

"Shepard, I thought we agreed those facilities were justified."

"Justified, Miranda? They were using human children. _Children_." I don't know what to make of that. Jacob has a way with words, an intensity that reminded me of a bartender I'd once met. He sounded disgusted, though our responses are similar. Anything to do with children is unsettling.

Mordin seems quiet. I don't know why.

"Enough. Both of you."

"We had nothing to do with Cerberus!" I interrupt bravely, defying my logic. "We were predominantly salarian and asari. Excluding turians and quarians, humans were one of the least common species within our ranks. We had more batarians working in the stock wing than we did humans throughout."

"Species prejudice?" Jacob asks with genuine curiosity. He steers the conversation in a different direction.

"Not at all. Kaer was...indifferent towards turians, but there was no actual hatred. Salarians and asari are extremely knowledgeable, humans are as well, but what we maintain in ability we lack in speed. It's hard to keep up."

"And what exactly made you the diamond in the rhinestones?" Miranda places her weight on her left leg, arms crossed. She raises a suspicious brow and stands firm. I doubt she's so calloused around her companions. She's right to be suspicious.

"Nothing. I've been assisting Professor Kaer since I was twelve. I earned my title with his tolerance and my incredible work ethic." I'm no longer afraid. I'm becoming annoyed, defensive. I feel my lip quirk as I look towards Legion.

He seems observant.

"Who exactly was this 'Kaer'?" Jacob shifts himself away from the wall, hands fisted despite their idleness. I imagine he aches.

"Professor Nasurn Han'Val Aegohr Olom Amaus Kaer. Thirty-fist year professor majoring in multiple species biology, anatomy, and cell production." I recall his first name well. Home world, nation, city, district, clan name, and given. Followed by profession and status.

So tedious to explain. Salarian culture still baffles me despite its familiarity.

"That doesn't matter. Either way, we need you to provide accessibility to the data," Shepard says, "I don't want it uploaded. I just want it open."

There's more than what they're telling me. What happened to the children? Why were we placed under suspicion?

Shepard doesn't trust Cerberus.

"Why was Maridine a planet under suspicion? You work for Cerberus, shouldn't you be assisting their operations?" I ask to test the water of my situation. I find it necessary.

Mordin inhales, blinking and stiff. "Rumors infer Cerberus funding genophage research. Humans, specifically Cerberus, gain ally in krogan. Practical when facing Reapers, but also sign of desperation. Methods go beyond Maelon's, involving human children due to genetic diversity and affordable prices."

"Children?" I ask out of disbelief. There is no plausible way to justify the experimentation on pubescence.

"Less expensive than developed adult, younger, higher stamina, healthier. Capable of lasting longer than matured human male or female," He explains, "Repetitive considering Jack's captivity."

I ignore his last statement, oblivious to its meaning.

"Tula...was there any chance that Kaer was working for Cerberus? You couldn't have known everything." She sounds firm, as odd as that seems. I feel myself panic. I can feel the epinephrine flood into my muscles, leaving my stomach to knot. I swallow.

Intake. Expel.

"No-...no, n-, no not possible," intake, "I filed everything for Kaer, even his personal projects. Wh-when he studied the-the, um, the influences of human stomach acids against asari systems I kept track of all his findings and plausible scenarios. That was just pure curiosity. He'd never seen the affect in-hand."

"He used actual organs?" I'm shaking so badly. I'm not sure who asked, but I think it was Jacob. Or was it Shepard...I don't know.

"It was just a small side-project with organs incapable of transplant. They were useless...just-...just throw-aways."

I calm a bit. I think on that term. Throw-aways. I immediately hate it. I hate the fact that I said. I hate myself for saying it. Throw-aways.

I look around the room, watching them exchange looks of perplexity. Mordin stares at me, almost disappointed. He shares Kaer's expression of deep thought, along with my mentor's look of uncertainty and slow regret. Legion shifts and concludes his observations, optic wandering and eyeing the exit almost longingly. I assume he's bored.

I look up, suddenly straight-faced after my zoned silence. Shepard makes eye contact, and I speak out with a tone so devastatingly emotionless that any geth could compete and sound sentient.

"I'm done answering your questions," I know not of what possessed me, but I know that it was said. I regret not a word of it, nor my vocalization of such a demand. "I will be off of your ship the next shore leave. Hopefully soon."

And I left, without escort. Legion followed close behind.

* * *

**End of chapter three. **

**I'm not sure when chapter four will be posted. I'm only half-way through it. Perhaps next week or sooner. **

**Thank you all so much for the support and reviews! I hope this isn't coming off too strong or predictable. Let me know when things begin to get Sue-ish! Please! Nonetheless, as you can see, I've a plot in the making! Yay. So, Cerberus has created a facility somewhere on Maridine to help the cure effort, though their intentions are not as pure. Child slaves always seem monstrous. **

**More action within the next two updates, hopefully!  
**

**Thank you again! Have a great week! Xoxo**


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